Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Yes!
“No,” I lied.
He read that lie on my face, and his grin reappeared.
“I’ll save any interactions with her to the hospital only, then,” he promised.
Relief poured through me.
“You could introduce her to Bowe,” I offered, the words slipping out of my mouth and surprising the shit out of me.
Dean shook his head.
“Bowe doesn’t like her,” he said. “And, I think he has the hots for your friend slash assistant who I haven’t seen actually do anything for you since I met her.”
A laugh burst free of my lips.
“Angie is a take her as she comes type of girl. She’s useful when she wants to be, and when that happens, she’s hella efficient,” I explained. “I pay her a fair wage for what she does do. When she’s not working with me, she works with her brother as an office assistant, and she’s also a PCT—or patient care tech—at Good Shepherd Kilgore.”
He gave me a look that clearly said ‘yeah, right.’
Then he kissed me, pinning me against the door with his body, leaving me breathless and panting.
“Bye, sweet cheeks,” he called over his shoulder.
I could do nothing but raise my hand in a small wave, completely unsure about nearly everything but one thing.
Dean was serious. He wanted us to be a thing again, and I would either have to take it or leave.
I’d also be incredibly stupid if I left before I figured out whether Dean and I could work.
First, and most importantly, because I was still in love with the man. Even more so now than I was a year ago. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, because despite being apart for this long, my love for him had only grown.
Which sucked.
Because that led into the second point.
Dean wouldn’t sit back and let me leave. He’d force me to face my fears.
Which led me to what was really my biggest fear.
Was I just another project for Dean to fix? And when he did fix me, would he just flip me like one of his project houses? Because if that happened, I wouldn’t just be left broken again, I would be irreparably shattered.
Chapter 14
Do you think the guy that invented vibrators heard voices say, “If you build it, they will come?”
-Random thoughts
July
My stomach was crawling with nerves as Dean pulled his shiny truck into the parking spot next to an old beat up truck that looked like it could compete in rock climbing contests on Mount Everest.
Or not.
But it was big and mean looking, so surely it served some sort of purpose, right?
Then again, in the South, where we were, everyone lifted their trucks. Even people whose trucks would likely never see a puddle of water, let alone mud.
My favorites were the cute little blondes who were the size of a toothpick with their jacked up trucks that they could barely maneuver through the Walmart parking lot, let alone a country road where mud would be involved.
Kind of like the girl who was getting out of her jacked up, new model Tahoe next to me with her cantaloupe-sized breasts and unnaturally blonde hair.
She didn’t look like that when we were in high school.
I swallowed thickly as I pushed my hair back over my shoulders.
I’d curled it and had worn it half up, half down, in a semi-updo that would allow the curls to float over my shoulders each time I moved.
I eyed the necklace, the same one I’d worn since high school, and grimaced tightly.
I should’ve taken it off.
It was the only diamond I had, and it hadn’t occurred to me that it’d been the same one everyone had teased me relentlessly about in high school.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, his eyes going from my necklace to me.
“I wasn’t very popular in high school,” I murmured softly, my fingers worrying the chain of the necklace as I spoke. “I hated it, in fact. I was the kid everyone loved to pick on and the whore of the trailer park, even though I’d never actually slept with anyone.”
When he didn’t say anything, I looked up at him and smiled at the scowl on his face.
“I wasn’t a whore, obviously,” I informed him. “But you’re going to hear a lot of whispers, I’m sure, and I wanted to warn you before you actually heard them. Don’t freak out. Don’t overreact. Just be calm.”
I looked up at him, and I could see his jaw clenched.
“I’ll tell you this now,” he murmured softly, reaching forward and grasping my hand with his. “If someone in there calls you a whore, and I hear it, I’m going to react to that and you’re going to let it happen. Got it, sweet cheeks?”
I snorted.
“They’ll send you to jail,” I told him. “They’re not worth it. Trust me.”
“What’s the worst thing they ever did to you?” he asked. “It can’t be worse than mine. When I was fourteen, I was all skinny legs and arms, a freaking beanpole,” he explained. “And I wanted to play football. When I went to tryouts, one of the seniors thought it’d be hilarious to sack me when I wasn’t paying attention and the ball wasn’t in play. He broke my femur and collarbone,” he sneered. “And I got a new nickname that day.”